


His First Year

by Iarollane



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iarollane/pseuds/Iarollane
Summary: Solas glossed over the year prior to the Breach when talking to the Inquisitor, but the events are still fresh.
Kudos: 3





	His First Year

  
Solas came to consciousness slowly. The first thing he was aware of was the feeling of mud, clinging to his skin. He tried to use his magic to whisk it away, but it felt weak and far away. That's when he remembered creating the barrier, the Veil meant to hold the prison shut. It had worked.

It **worked.**

Feeling a burst of triumph, he opened his eyes. The chamber he was in was dark, but what he could see was vaguely familiar. Then again, most uthenera chambers looked the same. It appeared that this chamber was meant to be hidden underground. One section of the rounded wall had collapsed, spilling dirt and roots in. A few stray points of light filtered through, giving the barest illumination, and highlighting the tiny stream of water passing into the chamber.

That explained why he was covered in mud.

But how had he come to be here? At the last, he had drawn his enemies to his stronghold, Tara'sylan Tel'as, where he had set the final magics in motion. There was no uthenera chamber there, so someone must have found him and carried him here.

With effort, he rolled over, planting his hands to push himself up as he swung his legs off the side of the slab. It was more difficult than it should have been. How long had he laid there?

Movement to one side, opposite the great roots, caught his attention. He tried to hop off the slab, to face whomever it may be on his feet, but his legs gave out and he went crashing down to his knees.

"Fen'Harel!" A familiar voice pulled at his memory. After a moment, the person came into his view, and their name swam to the surface of his mind.

"Felassan, old friend." His voice croaked, causing him to cough.

Felassan held out a cup, putting it to Solas's lips. It tasted sweet, like honey, helping to loosen the unused vocal chords. Solas drank greedily, recognizing the beverage as an ambrosia, used for assisting the transition out of uthenera.

He felt strength ease into his muscles, though not as much as he would expect, given how much ambrosia he'd just consumed. He tried to rise, felt his legs wobble, and braced himself on his elbows against the slab, his head hanging low.

"How long?" he asked, his voice still rasping.

Felassan glanced behind him, towards the wreckage of the wall. "Hahren, it's difficult to get an accurate timeframe-"

Solas snapped his head up, and for the first time noticed how worried Felassan looked. Noticed the wear on his clothes, and the dirt in his braided hair. _**"How long?"**_

Felassan took a deep breath to steady himself. "Nearest we can guess... somewhere upwards of ten thousand years."

Solas felt the little strength he'd regained slip away. He sat on the ground with a thump, shock filling his features. He'd known the spell would take more from him than he'd ever given any spell before, but he'd expected five years, maybe ten, spent in uthenera to recuperate.

Felassan dropped to his knees beside Solas, head bowed, and began speaking in soft tones. "I woke about thirty years ago. A few have woken in the years after. We've tried every ritual we know to awaken you and the few others left." He glanced around the room. "Nothing we did seemed to have any impact. Hahren, the Song..."

"I know," Solas whispered. "It's so... far. What do the spirits have to say?"

Felassan gave Solas a pitying look. "Almost all the spirits are on the other side of your Veil, Hahren. The few that make it through become... twisted, very easily."

Solas felt his heart breaking a little. No spirits? Who taught their people? Who guided them through their long lives?

"I need..." Solas wasn't sure what he needed, except that it wasn't in this room. "Help me up, Felassan, please," he said instead. Carefully, with Felassan's arm around him for support, he found his feet and began walking towards the door.

He needed to find his people, to recruit their help in the next phase of his plan. After all this time, his foci should have more than enough charge.

His foci.

He stopped, suddenly panicking. "Where is my orb?" he asked.

"We placed it in a more secure location," Felassan assured him. "I didn't think it did be a good idea to leave it where someone might wander in and find it. We're lucky no one found it while we were all in the Dream."

Solas nodded slowly, breathing easier with the information. "Yes, that was good. Thank you." He started moving again, his muscles protesting.

It was time to get to work.

==

Solas had been awake for barely a few weeks, and he felt despair pulling away at him. Felassan had reluctantly told Solas about the state of the People. He almost couldn't believe it. After everything, all the fighting and lives lost, they had won- but in doing, lost everything.

The People as he knew them were all but gone. The Veil, his masterpiece, his masterstroke, had destroyed everything they were. All that was left of them were fleeting shadows, incapable of comprehending the world of the Elvhen.

This was his legacy.

He looked at the orb in his lap, and tried yet again to access its power. Yet again, he was unable to gather even a tenth of the magic necessary to unlock it.

How was he to complete the second half of his revenge, let alone fix the terrible state of his People, while all the power he needed was in his hands- and completely inaccessible? He forced his despondency away, cleared his mind, and laid out everything in his mind as if it were a puzzle.

If he couldn't unlock his orb... then he should find someone that could.

Fine, assuming he found someone he could trust, they would also need the capability. It wasn't as simple as opening a door. Solas had always been wary of the Evanuris getting ahold of his foci, and so he had ensured there were traps built into its use. If someone were to unlock it without knowing the proper 'key,' it would destroy them and everything around them. He would need to coach this person in the proper forms, to ensure it was done correctly.

Unless...

He almost felt the puzzle pieces fall into place.

All he need to do was find someone, anyone with the abilities to open the orb, not tell them about the key, and stay close enough to retrieve it once the resulting explosion had killed them. Of course, there was really no telling how big the explosion would be, so the trick would be staying far enough away to avoid being caught in it himself, without being too far.

He took a deep breath, feeling as if a weight had lifted from him. He had a plan. It was rough, and needed a lot of information to ensure its success, but he had a course of action.

He stood. It was time to find Felassan.

==

"Hey! Flatear! What're you doing here, in our ruins?"

Solas looked around, confused. The language sounded like a derivative of dwarven, close enough that he could mostly understand it, odd enough to throw him off. He saw landships, like the ones that had sometimes been used by pilgrims that they'd called aravels, with some of the shadows walking beside them. They all wore vallaslin, and Solas felt his heart twist at the sight. Closer, wearing leathers and carrying a bow, a short elf stared at Solas aggressively.

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _I might be able to reason with them._ He called to them in elvhen, "Hail, friend, I am no trespasser."

The elf drew up short, his brow wrinkling. After a moment, he spoke in halting elvhen, "Friend? No friend." Switching to the strange dwarvish, he continued, "These places are ours, not someplace for you to camp however you like. You'll likely destroy history that you have no knowledge about."

Solas found he was getting better at understanding the cadence of the language, and made an attempt to communicate in it, since it seemed this elf's elvhen was rudimentary at best. "I'll not destroy. I help teach?"

Another elf, female and older than the archer, came up beside him. "Thank you, but no. Too many believe that they can steal artifacts and history in the name of 'helping.' Our goal is to preserve what we find." She was polite, but blunt. "We would appreciate it if you left these ruins, we will have to catalogue any damage you may have inadvertently caused and need to get started as soon as possible."

His grasp on the language increasing, Solas shook his head, trying again. "No damage. I was... sleeping?" Dwarvish didn't have a word for uthenera. "Wake up, was here."

"Sounds like some shems played a nasty trick on him, keeper," the archer said to the older one. "Bringing him here in his sleep and leaving him."

She hmmed. Solas was having a hard time reading her face. She had many wrinkles; he'd never seen an elf with such visible signs of age, and the few humans that had made it to Elvhenan had been young.

"If you are in such dire straits, da'len, we can spare some food and clothes, but you must be on your way," she said finally.

Solas glanced behind the two elves, seeing that the others in their caravan were pulling their aravels around into a circle. It seemed they were planning on staying here for an extended period of time.

"I can show-" he started to say.

"Flatear, can't you tell when you aren't wanted?" the archer asked sharply.

The wrinkled one put a hand on his shoulder, motioning him to silence. "If you think you've found something of interest to us," she said, "I will gladly follow you to see it. What should we call you?"

"Fen'Harel," Solas said. It was far less personal than his truer name, and they likely wouldn't associate it with his rebellion, not after all this time. Their apparent lack of spoken elvhen could only help.

Both the elves' faces twisted in distaste. "That's not funny," said the archer, his grip tightening on his bow. "We won't follow anyone who has named himself after the Trickster."

Trickster? Solas was confused, but quickly offered, "Felassan," as an alternative. His friend wouldn't mind the use of his name. They still looked suspicious, so he gestured to the darkened entrance behind him. They were reluctant to allow him at their backs, but followed when he led the way. They hung back a small distance, though that didn't prevent him from being able to hear the quiet exchange between them.

"Keeper, I don't like this," muttered the archer. "He could have set any number of traps to lead us into." Solas idly wondered what the woman's name was, and what significance 'keeper' had that the younger refused to call her anything else.

"Hush, Valyn. How was he to know we'd be here?" murmured the elder. "We only came because Trayla heard reports of smoke being spotted in the woods while she traded in the village. It's not like we planned to check this ruin." She sighed softly. "Honestly, I doubt this elf will have anything new to show us. We've watched over these ruins for generations, coming by only on our way to the Arlathvhen, until now." She shrugged. "I've seen every wall, copied every letter, since I was a girl."

Solas brought them to what appeared to be a wall adorned with prayers for the Dreamers. In actuality, it was a door to an uthenera chamber, long since emptied of its occupant.

The archer- Valyn?- looked unimpressed. The one he called Keeper kept her face passive, though her eyes did glance at the writing on the wall hungrily before settling back on Solas.

"Were you able to puzzle out a translation... Felassan?" She crossed her arms, looking at him with a guarded expression.

Solas turned away, Singing under his breath. These chambers weren't meant to be opened by accident, so there was a slight trick to it; the prayers were also spells, with notations above and below the writing to tell the Singer how it was to be Sung. He reached out, letting the small magic he'd gathered sink into the wall with a touch.

Valyn muttered an oath, and made to pull Solas away forcibly, but pulled up short when the Keeper gasped as the wall opened before them. "Oh, this is marvelous," she breathed, moving close to the opening. "You must be truly blessed by the Creators."

"No. The ones you call 'creators' were liars," Solas said, unable to help himself.

"Watch yourself, flatear," Valyn said. "Our gods are not fodder for your slander."

The Keeper spoke up almost absently. "Just because you chose to follow the humans' Maker, does not give you leave to belittle the beliefs of others." She didn't even look at him, her eyes glued to the murals adorning the walls inside the chamber.

"I do not 'follow' any gods," Solas replied snidely, "especially when they are false."

"Enough," said the Keeper sharply, finally looking at him. "Thank you for showing us this new room, but I think it's time for you to leave."

Fen'Harel drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and looking down at them. "When you decide to throw off your shackles," he said softly in elvhen, "you will be able to see and learn, and I will be there to teach. Until then..." He took a step towards them, and exactly as he had anticipated they stepped back, away from the doorway, away from him.

He Sang the refrain, causing the door behind him to slide shut. Eyes wide and hand raised as if to stop it, the Keeper let out a little mew of distress, pushing past Fen'Harel to reach the wall. "What did you do?" Her voice became shrill. She touched the wall in the same place Solas had, and when nothing happened she spun towards him. "Show us how it worked! We must be able to see it!" she demanded.

Fen'Harel linked his hands together behind his back, looked at them with a cold expression, and said simply, "No."

Valyn snarled, his hand on his quiver. The Keeper- Fen'Harel no longer wondered what her name was- was practically shaking in indignation. "We are the last of the Elvhen," she spat, with almost ritualistic slowness, "and we will not submit."

Fen'Harel threw his head back and laughed, and the elves started in surprise. "If you only knew," he said angrily. "But you refuse to learn."

The archer raised his bow. Fen'Harel knew he hadn't recovered, not enough, but he had enough magic for one small feat. He took a step between. It felt like moving through molasses, and his energy ran out so quickly he was only barely able to make it outside the ruins. He gasped, doubled over from the strain. From the entrance to the ruins, he could hear the echoes of cursing, and knew he needed to leave.

As he ran into the woods, past a small statue set apart from the encampment, he knew he would do anything to fix this world. Anything would be better than this.

It would be worth it to scrap it all and build anew.

==

"And you're sure of this?" Fen'Harel had learned as much history as he could in a short amount of time. Some of it echoed in his mind, as if he had walked in the Fade through the memories of the events.

"I was there," the female elf kneeling before him said. She was one of the quickling elves, and looked sick. Her eyes burned, but her skin was sallow, her cheeks hollow. "We fought a cadre of thinking, speaking darkspawn." She frowned. "Our commander made a deal with one. I'd follow her anywhere, but that darkspawn- he called himself the Architect- he held my sister captive, brainwashed her." She tapped her fingers against her thighs in agitation. "I've been searching for them for a long time."

"Thank you for this information." Fen'Harel dismissed her.

She hesitated. "There's one more thing," she said. "While I investigated this Architect, I found rumors within the Wardens of another thinking darkspawn. Apparently, it was kept in a prison." Fen'Harel nodded for her to continue. "That one was killed, not long ago. Some upstart adventurers from the Free Marches got caught up in its prison and killed it to get out again." She stood, saying, "We've evidence of two of them. It's possible there's even more out there, somewhere."

"This is useful. Thank you." This time, she left, and Fen'harel let out a deep breath. He didn't understand how someone could willingly corrupt themselves. They had no idea of the forces they played with. Just one more reason why this world needed to be corrected.

One of the elvhen glided forward. He called himself Banal'ras, Shadow, claiming that until the Veil came down they were all only shadows of their former selves. He had been one of Mythal's servants, and kept her vallaslin in her honor. It hurt a little to see it. Fen'Harel made himself do it anyway; it was his reminder that he had failed to protect her.

"Hahren, there have been reports from our agents in Tevinter that there is a darkspawn such as she described," the elvhen said. "He seems to be heading a group of cultists that are determined to bring back the excesses of the human empire called the Tevinter Imperium."

Fen'Harel felt a snarl begin to twist his lips. The magisters had been almost as bad as the Evanuris, and had perpetrated some of the worst crimes against his People since the fall of the false gods. If anyone was deserving of the fate he had in mind, it would be this one.

"Set it up," he ordered. "Use our agents to put the orb in his path." He looked at the sky. It was almost time to speak with Felassan.

Fen'Harel was beginning to worry about his friend. Felassan had always been one of his staunchest agents, willing to go anywhere, do anything that was necessary to further the plans Fen'Harel laid out. But ever since his waking, it had seemed to him that he wasn't as convinced of the needs. Felassan kept arguing against 'extreme action,' as he put it.

Fen'Harel felt a slight pang of guilt for those that wouldn't survive the coming change, but he steeled himself with the knowledge that those that did survive would be much better off, not the least of whom would be his own People. The thought of being cut off from the Fade completely... he shuddered.

Shaking off the pensive mood, Fen'Harel mentally stepped into the Fade. He waited longer than he thought he would, long enough for the worries to begin circling his mind again. Was Felassan dead? Or had he decided to abandon the cause they'd been working so hard for? Which would be worse?

After what seemed like an eternity, Felassan finally came into view. He looked haggard. "Apologies, Hahren," he said. "Things have not gone as I expected them to."

Fen'Harel simply said, "Report."

Straightening, Felassan began. "The situation in Orlais has escalated beyond what I predicted. I'm currently traveling with the Empress, her champion, and my contact. Following us is the would be usurper, a number of his forces, and a spirit cohabiting with a Dalish elf."

Surprised at the last one, Fen'Harel said nothing, only motioned for the other to continue. "This should tickle you," Felassan said with a wry smile. "They found, and were able to activate, a small portion of the Eluvian network with the aid of said spirit."

Solas's breath left him in a rush. "Whatever else you do," he commanded, "you must get control of that network."

"But Hahren, it could be vital for the freedom of the elves in the cities!" Felassan protested. "Briala is so close to staging a revolution. A little more push, and she-"

Fen'Harel cut him off, giving him a hard look. "No matter what, Felassan. It is **vital** to the long term well-being of our People."

Felassan fell silent, looking troubled. After a moment, he murmured, "I'll do what I can."

Fen'Harel opened his eyes, letting his mind slip back into the material world. He stared blankly for a moment, wrestling with himself, before coming to a decision.

Banal'ras slipped back into the room, bowing slightly and saying, "It is set in motion, Hahren. The orb should be in the creature's hands within a month."

"Very good, thank you." Fen'Harel turned towards his desk. "I need to leave, very soon. If all goes well, I will be returning with control of a piece of the next step."

And if it didn't...

Solas was afraid for his friend.

==

He thundered back into his current base, Banal'ras close behind but silent.

He felt sick.

He felt _**angry**_.

Felassan, his best and brightest, had willingly betrayed their cause. For a **quickling** that didn't even have the spark of magic.

It was her fault. Somehow, she'd currupted the purpose Felassan had carried for millennia, turning his head with the idea that these shadows were worth saving.

He took a deep breath through clenched teeth, controlling his rage. "How long until the creature has my orb?" Fen'Harel asked stiffly. The sooner this was finished, the better.

Banal'ras replied, "Not long. His cultists have it, and according to our agents in their ranks, will be meeting him at a temple. He plans to use it there." He pointed to a mark on the map they had on the wall, on the southern arm of a mountain range.

Fen'Harel nodded once. "Then begin preparing our People," he said. "And I will be leaving again."

"Again, Hahren? But you only just returned."

"I will need to be there once he has unlocked it, to ensure I am the first person to handle it," Fen'Harel explained absently. "It will be dangerous to anyone else for some time after, and it would likely kill anyone unprepared for it."

"As you say, Hahren." Banal'ras gave a slight bow, then left.

Solas closed his eyes. In the darkness there, he saw once again the violet eyes of his best friend. The red of his blood as it spread around him.

_**"She deserves a chance," **_echoed in his ears.

Felassan had made his choice. And Fen'Harel had made his.

==

Solas looked with trepidation at the lines of people entering the temple. He had not anticipated that the place the creature was planning to use would also be the site of a concordance. There were hundreds of people inside already, and by the looks of things it would grow to more than a thousand.

He detested the waste of life this would cause. The darkspawn magister had held onto Fen'Harel's orb for longer than he had anticipated, perhaps waiting for this very event. It made Solas's stomach turn at the thought, but it was too late to change it.

He was watching from across the valley, waiting for the moment his orb was free and it was safe to retrieve it. He had made himself comfortable in a small cave, just deep enough to keep him out of the elements but not so deep as to hide any unwanted wildlife. He was lucky to have found one that faced towards the temple; he would have a perfect view of the events, however unsavory he might find them.

The clothes he wore were worn, comfortable, and utterly unlike his normal gear. That way, if anyone stumbled into his camp, he could claim to be a concerned onlooker. They would take him for a spy, but that was better than the truth. He had enough provisions to last for-

The blast knocked him off his feet, careening him into the wall. He looked, dazed, at the temple that was... gone, or mostly so. Everything closer to the temple had been victim to the shockwave, sending people, horses, wagons, and weapons flying with no regard for how they would land. Trees were stripped of needles, and in some cases uprooted entirely. Snow piled in banks that covered mangled remains. And the mountainside was aglow with the tear in his Veil.

Solas looked in horror. This was far more than he'd expected, even taking into account the extended time his foci had had to collect energies. What had that creature **done**?

At that thought, Solas shook off his shock. He needed to get into what remained of the temple, find his orb, and finish his mission. Otherwise it would have all been for naught. He scrambled, leaving his pack and provisions behind.

Unfortunately, he was not the first to reach the ruins. He was able to hide among the elves brought to assist. He thought that if he was caught wandering, he could use the excuse that he was looking for wounded.

Very quickly he knew that wouldn't work; there was nothing living, not in the temple itself. When he finally made his way to the epicenter of the blast, he had a second blow: his orb was gone. As was, it seemed, the creature that had used it. It was likely that he had perished in the blast, but Solas had a sinking feeling that even if he had, then he must have had accomplices standing by, ready in case of the worst. Solas knew he himself would have.

Despondent, seeing all of the hard work and planning go to waste, Solas prepared to leave. As he made his way, keeping his head down, he heard shouts go up. He paused. It took a moment to understand, but when he did hope blossomed in him again.

There was a survivor.

**Author's Note:**

> So I initially had the itch for this story while trying to complete the Fictober prompts on tumblr. I ended up stumbling and failing to finish the last week of prompts, mostly because this story had taken root and refused to conform to any of the prompts. 
> 
> The 'derivative of dwarven' that is mentioned in the third part is Common. I have this headcanon that the trade tongue that binds all the nations together is actually modern dwarven, since the dwarves interact and trade with every nation in Thedas. It's a derivative because the old dwarven that Solas would know would have about as much in common as Old English does to any modern English speaker; it would be difficult but not impossible to understand.


End file.
